


Take Me To The Holy Land

by hharrytomlinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abstinence, Baker Harry, Chastity Device, Forbidden Love, King Louis, M/M, Middle Ages, Minor Character Death, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:18:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hharrytomlinson/pseuds/hharrytomlinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the King of England during the Middle Ages leaves Louis with too many responsibilities at the age of twenty-three. Harry becomes one of them.</p>
<p>
  <i>Louis sighs and gets out of the bed. He fumbles through the space he’s made in his drawers for Harry’s night things and finds a long, warm pair of pants and a t-shirt. Stuffing the fabric into Harry’s arms, Louis sighs again, close and making it so Harry’s back is pressed further against the door.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I want you to sleep with her tonight.” Louis kisses Harry’s cheek. It pains him to say this, to wish Harry gone, but he knows what’s right. “And if you need anything, even just a glass of water, I’ll have a servant outside her door, okay?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me To The Holy Land

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bearandleonardwrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearandleonardwrite/gifts).



> Prompt: Royalty/Medieval AU- Louis' a king and has recently acquired new servants. One of them is Harry, a bright eyed boy who he just can't seem to dislike and treat like an actual servant. Harry's nervous to believe that the king would genuinely like him, so he tries to stay away from his advances. But eventually, he gives in because who wouldn't fall for the beautiful king? A bit of forbidden love but eventually they rise above it, cause soulmates.
> 
> I hope this is somewhat adequate... happy Winter!

i.

Louis rests his head on his desk in minimum frustration. He’s learned through years of what his mother called “royal training” to stay composed in times of desperation and need.

There are times, however, when he wishes he could scream or shout at someone. Maybe a servant who he can pay off, relieve them of their duties so they won’t tell anyone that their King’s a royal fuck up. Literally. But that’d only roll back to his original problem. They’ve lost five servants in the past week _alone_.

It’s not necessarily of Louis’ concern, for he is the King of England, after all, and can’t be concerned with matters such as low staff – that’s not his job – but he was given the official reports of this week’s resigning’s, changes in staff, and all, and had sacrificed tea in the dining hall for a mug in his office, reading through the packet of papers, fresh off the printing press.

James and Peter have been relieved of duty to work on their family’s farms. Geoffrey is off to fight in the Crusades. And Henry and Nicholas have gotten ill from a recent plague and are to be quarantined by the palace, offered England’s best possible care, before being relieved of their duties as servants for the rest of their lives, in the case that they infect the King.

Louis’ just grateful that they’re getting three more servants tomorrow. Two more are supposed to come next week, one a guard who’s recently left the Crusades after being cleared from the Pope. And it’s not exactly that Louis’ _against_ the Crusades or the Catholic religion – he just doesn’t see the need for someone like that as someone who’s to deliver his meals and help him dress.

England’s not powerful enough to have a say, anyway, so he keeps his lips shut and retires to bed early, when the light outside is almost gone and the workers around the palace are just starting to retire for the day.

 

ii.

Louis William Tomlinson, the ruler of England in the day and age of 1320. The stress of ruling a country trying to rebuild itself from the ground up has taken over his life at the age of twenty-three. His parents, dead from a terrible case of the flu, left a country in his hands and too many priorities to fulfill. He thanks all of his blessings every night that he’s not in charge of a bigger country with more relations and conflicts like Italy, barely even has to worry about the Crusaders in the Holy Land or problems like being overthrown.

That may be because he’s a fair ruler, regardless. His father’s made it easy for him, made it so everything was already set up for Louis by the time he took over, and all he has to do is find himself a bride and follow in his father’s footsteps.

This bride, the future Queen, is yet to appear, and Louis’ regretful of such. There’s talk of him being set up with an Austrian Princess, but he doesn’t like the idea of marrying a twelve year old, and isn’t in favor of pursuing a marriage just for political connections. He doesn’t want that type of responsibility, that shade of blood on his hands and up his royal arms when it comes to a girl so young.

Louis’ main concerns consist of ruling a too-big region of Europe in the Middle Ages. There’s no time for marriage.

 

iii.

Louis is woken by his main servant, Niall, an Irish noble turned runaway who England’s glad to have. It’s the Irish coo of his name that Louis much rather prefers over some British bloke and has him rolling over onto his stomach in a very un-royal manner, stuffing his feather filled pillows over his head. He leaves just enough pressure off so he can hear Niall’s voice, because even in the early hours of the morning he can never pretend to hate it.

“We’ve to wake, your majesty.”

“No we don’t.” Louis mumbles into his bed. They’ve had this exact discussion a hundred and two different ways before. It all results in Louis getting out of bed and allowing Niall to dress him before he’s late for whatever important business he has downstairs or in his office. Today is no exception.

When Louis makes his way downstairs, there are three kneeling men dressed in servant’s attire by the bottom step. Niall is behind Louis, ready when needed, but stopping his majesty in order to introduce.

“These are your new servants, your majesty. That’s Harry Styles, in the white, he’s a baker and will also deliver food until we get someone on that. Um, next to him’s Zayn Malik, he comes from a family of Islamic crusaders who we find might be helpful, er, and then Liam Payne. He does clothes. Sowing, and stuff.”

“Don’t we have women for that?” Louis stops in the middle of the staircase and turns around to glance up at Niall, ironically so for a King.

“He’s educated.” Niall grins, Irish accent and all, and Louis passes by the new three servants with ease, about to head on into the dining room, before remembering.

“Styles,” Louis turns on his black heels, the ones that make him a few centimeters taller and boost his esteem, “do you make fresh orange juice?”

“I, uh,” Harry stumbles over his words, making a terrible first impression, and causing Louis to crack out into a small smile, “yes?”

“You don’t sound too sure.” Louis frowns, though, because his last cook, Nicholas, made freshly squeeze orange juice, imported right off the dock that morning. Nicholas also has a deadly plague running through his body and should be nowhere near Louis’ food, so.

“I can do more than orange juice, your majesty.”

“Okay.” Louis nods his head. “Show me your worst.” He retreats to his office before breakfast, changing course to do more paperwork on his latest crisis. There’s been a cathedral built after him and he doesn’t have the time to make an appearance. Louis will, of course, but has to write a personalized letter to explain why it’ll be a few weeks before he can get around to it. Unsurprisingly, explaining why he’s too busy ruling an entire country on his own isn’t much hard work.

 

iv.

Louis’ been raised with servants and guards and maids. His mother was always sweet with the female workers, and Louis found her almost lonely, after learning that she wasn’t able to conceive any more children and Louis would be her only. There was no women to teach how to sow or knit, no chest to work on filling for her daughter, no linens to make. So she found herself keen with the women workers.

Louis’ father, on the other hand, was stricter. He wasn’t cruel, never fired anyone for no reason and always made sure his servants were well taken care of, his guards aware of his appreciation, however there was never a sense of informality like Louis’ always had with Niall.

After Louis’ rise to the thrown at the age of twenty, he tried to stay professional, to be a real King with real manners and expectations of those working under and for him. He succeeds. Sometimes.

 

v.

“Do you know what’s taking him so long?” Louis sits at the head of the dining room table, solid oak beneath his fingertips. There’s only a placemat where his food should be, Niall standing quietly across the room.

“We’re short staffed, your majesty.” Niall explains, and the constant reminder of Louis’ position no longer has the formality it once did. “It’s just Harry in the kitchen.”

As if summoned by Louis’ hunger and impatience, Harry comes into the room pushing a metal cart on wheels, a great creation, Louis thinks, because Harry looks like the type to stumble over and ruin plates of food.

Harry sets a glass jug of orange juice out first, setting a glass down for it to be poured into. He must not realize the proper protocol of serving royalty, for Niall has to step in to pour the drink for his King and Harry blushes in realization of who he’s serving.

The plates of food come next, and there’s lots of them for the serving of just one King. In one way or another, Harry’s feeding the entire country, plates upon plates of biscuits, breads, meats, and eggs making their way upon the table.

“You feeding a family, love?” Louis asks, and he _means_ to be friendly. Sometimes he gets lonely and tries to make friends with the people closest around him – the servers – but this doesn’t seem to work with Harry.

Harry looks down in his white button up and blushes, the color of his shirt contrasting with his face to make his skin look soft and pale. And then his cheeks turn red and he shakes his head, brown curls that Louis’ just now noticing framing his face.

“No, your majesty. M’sorry about the quantity.”

_Well educated, too_ Louis thinks, wondering where on earth the hirers found this lot.

Louis knows he should probably explain to Harry that he was only just kidding, tends to do that sometimes, for he’s not like Kings before him, but figures Niall will do that for him later. Instead, Louis lets Niall fill his plate and he takes a bite, realizing that someone should probably test the food first to make sure he’s not being poisoned, or whatever, but he’s not really caring. It’s eight in the morning and he’s starved.

Louis moans around a warm biscuit, followed by a thumbs up signal directed at Harry, who stays by his cart, awaiting dismissal of some sort.

“You can sit, if you’d like.” Louis remembers his manners in time to make Harry uncomfortable.

“It’s, um, fine, Sir. M’fine.”

“If you’re sure then,” Louis remarks, noticing Harry’s refusal as a trait of shyness and being nervous around his King, “Niall can show you to the servant’s quarters. However, we’ll be needing you for lunch.”

“O-Okay.” Harry nods his head. “Thank you, your majesty.”

Louis musses up his hair once Harry’s gone. He runs his fingers through his fringe, before trying to fix it in time for Niall to return – not that Niall hasn’t already seen him under his worst conditions. Messed up hair isn’t really an issue, but Louis’ booked for meeting after meeting today and he’s at least got to look like the crown belongs on his head during them.

 

vi.

Louis’ run down by dinner. He’s had to defend why he’s unmarried at least twelve times to several different men – most of them under no position to question their King. Being a King is _hard_ , Louis’ decided, because this isn’t like the Dark Ages. He has the Magna Carta to follow, people to please, and for some reason everyone’s main concern is which princess he’s going to marry.

Louis’ never been to the kitchen before, but finds himself drawn toward it after realizing how empty the palace seems recently. He has Niall practically up his arse day and night and he’s _still_ lonely, adding an empty palace on top of that’s painful.

Surprising even himself, Louis knocks on the kitchen door _before_ entering. He finds the room he expected to be filled with people to only have a lanky boy leaning over, grabbing a long metal pan away from hot rocks of coal, a fire beneath them over a metal plate.

When Harry turns around, he nearly jumps, the warmed biscuits on his pan jumping in place from the jerk of his wrist. Louis notices his arm to be bony and pale, the sleeves of his top rolled up. He looks young and cute, a lot more attractive than any of the men Louis’ had to see to all day.

Louis doesn’t move or speak. He’s not one to offer help, so he doesn’t. It’s not his job. He doesn’t belong in the kitchen, but also can’t be told to leave, so he stays by the doorway and watches Harry go back to work, hands shaky and motions jittery as he tries to resume what he was doing before Louis interrupted.

There’s an empty silence that follows, and Louis spends it studying the way Harry cuts up vegetables to place in a stew. There’s left overs that he moves to another counter, where he places them all in a bowl, before pouring in some sort of liquid.

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour, your majesty,” Harry murmurs delicately, looking up from his lashes, “in case you were wondering.”

Louis hums. He wasn’t, not really, had sort of just wanted company.

Louis’ unsure what compels him to approach the counter Harry’s working at. But he leans against the wooden work bench anyway, watches large hands cut and dice, before pouring food in.

“Where are you from, Harry?” Louis asks, genuinely curious.

“S’called Cheshire.” Harry doesn’t look up, is clearly uncomfortable with the topic, so Louis moves on, smiles gently, even though the young boy doesn’t see. He’s too focused on his work, a good ethic that Louis can respect.

Or he can’t. Dipping his finger into the soup, Louis sucks on his pointer finger and suddenly has Harry frowning at him. Clear confusion fills Harry’s face, and Louis smiles around his pointer finger.

“I’ll see you at dinner, love. I’ll make sure to have Niall set an extra place for you. The servant’s slop tastes terrible.”

 

vii.

Louis watches Harry eat. It’s not nearly as creepy as it sounds, but he can’t help it when his eyes rise from his plate to the twenty year old on his left. With them, Niall sits on Louis’ right, eating with the King like he often does when Louis gets lonely. Louis gets lonely a lot.

“How was your first day, Harry?” Louis’ taking too much interest, he knows, for he’s yet to even speak a word to the new servant Zayn, can’t even bloody _remember_ the name of the second one. Or what he’s supposed to be doing.

“Good, thank you, your majesty.” Harry looks up from his plate, making sure to finish chewing before he responds. He’s taken a smaller portion than Louis would like, and Louis makes sure to show his displeasure.

“Are you going eat more than that, then?”

Harry shakes his head.

“How come?”

Harry shrugs and Louis gets frustrated. He does so, easily, a combination of stress and possibly being a bit spoiled as a child. Or a lot spoiled, but no one’s counting.

Louis doesn’t mean to grab the fine imported China of Harry’s plate, but does, the silverware of his spoon clinking against the bowl. When the dish is returned to Harry’s placemat, there’s a biscuit hanging off of the plate and a fresh serving of soup in the bowl that rests on it.

No one speaks. Not even Niall, who has the habit to call out uncomfortable moments, even when he really shouldn’t. Harry continues eating with his head ducked down, as per usual, and Louis? Louis pretends it didn’t happen, Louis takes a sip from his glass of wine and stirs the soup in his bowl to get it to cool to an appropriate temperature.

 

viii.

“Your majesty?” Louis’ going up to his room for the night when he’s stopped in the hallway. He turns around to find the soft voice belonging to Harry, and smiles.

“You know you can call me Louis, right?” Louis blurts without realizing. He’s never liked the way _Your Majesty_ sounded – Your Majesty’s his father, not him. But even this is a shock. Even _Niall_ , Niall who’s served Louis since forever, doesn’t address him by his first name. Louis is _Your Majesty_ or _King Louis_ to everyone.

Harry isn’t everyone.

“I, um,” Harry bites his lip, flushing and only a few feet from Louis in the long corridor, “I was wondering what you wanted for breakfast tomorrow morning. Niall says you eat at eight so I can—“

“I’m not picky, love.” Louis takes a step forward, dauntingly. “Whatever you feel comfortable making is fine.”

For someone who’s serving his King, Harry should be _comfortable making_ what his King wants. But right now, Louis doesn’t seem to mind.

Louis doesn’t seem to mind about a lot of things – clearly needs to rest because he’s not thinking at all. Leaning forward, his beard scratches Harry’s cheek, their faces close enough that Louis can hear the fast pace of Harry’s heartbeat. The palace is quiet at night, everything is, but Louis feels like he’s intruding when he can hear the soft thump.

“Goodnight, Harry.” Louis concludes with a kiss on Harry’s warm cheek, before he’s retreating his touch. He turns around to make his way down the hall and up a grand staircase to his room, where Niall waits to get him ready for bed.

Louis doesn’t hear Harry leave, and knows he’s stuck, frozen on the royal red carpet, either watching Louis retreat or staring down at the ground with a shameful blush.

 

ix.

Louis tells himself that he’s going to try to stay on the down low with Harry. He won’t approach him, like in the kitchen, won’t even do more than say hello. He shouldn’t have asked where he was from. Should have never invited him to sit at the grand table without even getting to know him well enough first. And asking him to call him Louis was definitely crossing the line.

Regardless, Harry doesn’t obey the request. He calls Louis _Your Majesty_ more than ever, though, makes sure to use it, to stay formal. Louis would feel rejected if he weren’t still being served food of the best quality.

Louis’ thankful when seven new servants come. The palace no longer feels so lonely, and it gives him the opportunity to relieve some stress. He spends an entire day in bed because he can, being able to appreciate each feather in his pillow and the silk of his sheets. Even goes naked beneath them for a few minutes before realizing anyone could walk in. The thought of _Harry_ walking in is tempting at first, before he remembers that Harry no longer delivers the food, just cooks.

And if that only makes him a bit depressed, then being told that the Roman Catholic Crusaders have made progress in the Holy Land gets Louis a bit angry. He tries not to let politics and world crisis’ bother him so much, but how could they not when he’s the bloody King of an entire land?

Louis doesn’t condone the Crusades. So he finds Zayn.

“Are you telling me,” Louis hesitates, setting his palm against his forehead, “there is literally nothing more to the Crusades than an Islamophobic pope about two hundred years ago. That it?”

“In summary,” Zayn clears his throat, “yes.”

“Bloody hell.” Louis grumbles. He’s not about to extensively get involved. If some of his people want to join, fine by him, for it doesn’t exactly ruin any trade he’s got going or the rebuilding of his kingdom. But it’s more and more stress and unneeded frustration.

Zayn slouches against the comfortable chair in Louis’ office, casual and not really caring much of who Louis is. He was born in England, however, so Louis is technically still his King, but doesn’t act like it.

“Well alright then.” Louis sighs. “You can go, if you’d like.”

“Oh, um, actually,” Zayn clears his throat and sits up, “Harry wanted to know if he could see you, actually. His family home was attacked by knights and—“

Louis swallows. He doesn’t know Harry well enough to mourn with him, but feels too attached to not care at all. “You can send him in. Thank you.”

Louis worries over Harry’s well-being while he waits for him. The inside of his cheek is bitten bloody with concern for Harry’s sake until there’s a knock and a lanky boy stumbling his way into Louis’ office. Big windows of glass rest along the back wall, displaying the snow outside behind Louis, and Louis notices the way Harry’s gaze lingers over them. His eyes are rimmed with a sore red color.

“Please, sit down, love.” Louis smiles gently, considering Harry’s situation. Louis doesn’t know what’s happened, but it can’t be good if he’s been crying and needs to see his King regarding it.

“M’sorry to bother. I was going to see Niall but Zayn told me he could tell—“

“It’s fine, Harry, what’s wrong, if you don’t mind me asking?” Louis sets his hands in front of him on his desk, clasping his fingers together and almost wishing he could reach out to offer a touch of comfort to Harry. He knows he shouldn’t, though.

“M-My mum, um, she was murdered. There was a letter, a-and it said, I,” Harry chokes over his own breath and Louis doesn’t like seeing him like this. He looks fragile, delicate like a flower along the ocean. “I w-would like to visit my sister. She, she doesn’t do well on her o-own.”

“Of course, darling, I can send a carriage. You said Cheshire, right?”

Harry sniffles and nods. “H-Holmes Chapel.”

“Do you want me to bring her here, instead? I can’t have my best cook in danger. I’ve men out there already who can bring her. The palace’s big enough.” Louis’ being generous, and possibly suspiciously so. But sometimes it’s just something he does, like buttoning up his cloak (although it’s really Niall who does that for him). He has the power and the resources, and Harry’s cute. Harry’s cute and his mother’s just passed. “We can bring, your, um, mother, as well. Host a funeral here, if you’d like.”

Harry looks surprised a few feet from Louis. He wipes at his eyes, sniffling again and clearing his throat.

“O-Okay.” Harry nods. “Th-Thank you.”

 

x.

Louis catches word that Harry’s mum is halfway to the palace around dinner. Afterward, he finds Harry on his way to his room and offers to speak in private. In Louis’ room.

Other than Niall and a few servants, Louis’ never had actual company in his room. Even his parents wouldn’t enter, for all encounters were proper and formal past the age of five.

Louis keeps a hand around Harry’s wrist as he guides him down the hall and up an elaborate staircase. He can feel Harry’s pulse in his wrist, the soft sniffles he gives a reminder of his deceased mother, and hurries to bring Harry to his room, and hopefully comfort.

“Your sister’s stopped for the night to rest at an official’s home. There’s nothing to worry about, and she should be here by half noon tomorrow.” Louis says once the door to his room is closed and he’s guided Harry to the edge of his bed. Harry seems hesitant, unsure on what to do or say because _Louis’_ a formal official. He’s the _King_.

“Okay.” Harry nods his head like before, taking in the information. “Th-Thank you, your majesty. Will that be all?”

“I was also wondering,” Louis breathes in, too curious to how Harry will react and hoping he’ll say yes to not ask at all, “if you’d like to sleep in here tonight.”

Harry’s eyes widen only a fraction of what Louis had expected. His lips part, his Adam’s apple bobbing, before his soft voice whispers simply, “Why?”

“The bed’s bigger.” Louis smiles, sitting beside Harry for emphasis. “And it’s supposed to be cold tonight. Niall says it gets worse in the servant’s quarters because there’s no basement underneath. I’ve a fireplace, too.” Louis figures Harry will say yes or no, and he might as well, might as well set his hand on the boy’s thigh because he’ll probably end up touching him if he says yes, regardless.

Harry either doesn’t want Louis or he does and setting a hand a bit too close up the boy’s slacks can’t be too harmful.

Harry seems hesitant.

“You look like you could use some comfort, love.” It’s Louis’ final argument, his last whisper, before Harry’s nodding his head in agreement.

“Okay.” Harry’s eyes flicker from the wall to Louis’ face, which is so close to him, and Louis’ lips quirk in a smile.

“Good.” Louis breathes. “I don’t want you being alone until your sister gets here.”

Louis tells Harry he can use his bathroom while he finds a servant to set logs on the fireplace and bring in extra blankets, warm from being set out to dry in front of the fire in the washroom. When Harry returns, teeth brushed and all, the bed has been remade and the duvet is pulled back, the decorative pillows placed on a nearby chair, while the feather ones have come out.

“I need to, um, get my night clothes.” Harry bites his lip, standing awkwardly in the doorway like he needs his King’s permission. Louis’ unsure if he does, but shakes his head, like it’s his decision.

“It’s far too cold, there, love, you can borrow some from here.”

Harry enters the room fully a bit hesitant, closing the wooden door behind him. Walking past Harry to get to his dresser, Louis snags Harry’s wrist and brings him toward the passed down piece of furniture that’s been in his room since he was little. It’s big enough to hold all of his night clothes, his closet holding his day.

Louis likes having Harry close enough that he can hear him breathing and feel any warmth his body gives off. It’s always cold in England, and tonight’s no different, especially since it’s the middle of the winter, but for once Louis’ thankful for it. It gives him an excuse to be closer to Harry.

“What do you normally sleep in?” Louis asks, releasing Harry’s hand to open the main drawer that holds all his night garments. Most of them are white and silky soft, and Louis hopes they’ll fit Harry well enough.

“Um, my, um, underwear.”

“Don’t you get cold?” Louis frowns and watches Harry shrug carelessly.

“I guess. I don’t have any night clothes, though.”

Louis makes note that he’s going to have to have Liam make Harry some night clothes. Something soft, and maybe with fur on the inside.

For now, though, Louis hands Harry a long pair of underwear that fit snuggly and are similar to shorts, but thinner. They’re white and Louis knows he has the ability to give him more clothes, but would really actually like seeing Harry in little to nothing.

Harry thanks Louis and turns to go toward the bathroom, before Louis’ hand on his waist stops him.

“I can turn around, if you’d like. It’d be a shame if the guards and servants saw you in little to nothing.”

Louis sleeps with two guards guarding his room. They’re both beefy men who he _knows_ have watched him bathe more than once when they were supposed to be making sure no one came into the room. He didn’t mind, not exactly, but he’s not sure that Harry will feel the same.

To show he’s serious, Louis turns around to face his bedroom wall and listens for Harry to start undressing. The temptation to turn back around is completely there, but he doesn’t. Harry’s just lost his mum and Louis may or may not like him. A lot.

“M’done.” Harry murmurs after a few moments, and Louis turns around to find the underwear fits him surprisingly well.

Louis blows out the candles lining his room as Harry gets into bed hesitantly. He follows suit, pulling back the duvet and several blankets in order to get warm. The pillows are freshly fluffed and softer than Louis remembers after years of sleeping on them. And most importantly, Harry’s beside him, breathing and shuffling to get comfortable, although it doesn’t take much. Louis leans over in bed to press his lips to Harry’s forehead, murmuring _good night_ against his skin in the pitched black room.

 

xi.

Louis wakes up with his lips pressed to the back of Harry’s shoulder and the feeling of warm skin up against him. He doesn’t realize he’s spooning Harry until he moves his arm downward and his fingertips graze the waistband of his underwear, smooth skin falling past his fingers.

Harry’s body is warm and tempting, and he smells surprisingly good for the morning. He smells like sunshine and home and Louis can’t help but tighten his grip around the boy’s waist at the nostalgia of it all.

But then Louis realizes he’s hard and his hips are pressed against Harry’s back, his crotch against his bum, and Louis goes to grind down, just a bit, hoping to relieve some pressure. Harry stirs and Louis tests the boundaries, moves his hand down Harry’s thigh.

Harry stirs and wakes, sitting up and breaking from Louis’ arms and their spooning position. He looks momentarily confused, before realizing where he is and Louis’ boner and _his own boner_ and frowning.

“I-I can’t.” Harry murmurs. “’M practicing chastity.”

Louis sits up, and can’t help but bring his hand to Harry’s cheek. His skin looks smooth and feels even softer as he tries to comfort the boy in his bed.

“That’s alright, love.” Louis whispers. “We don’t have to touch like that.” Louis wonders if anyone else has ever felt this way toward someone of the same gender before. He wonders if he’s the only one – if Harry likes boys too and they’re just soulmates. “I like you sleeping in my bed, though.”

“I, um, can’t, not again.” Harry fumbles over his words, tucking the duvet under his chin.

“Do you not trust me?” Louis doesn’t mean to ask, but he does, the words spilling out of him before he has the chance to stop them. He blames it on the fact he’s just woken up.

“I do, I, I can’t risk it, though. Not until I’m married.” Harry whispers the last part, looking down at his lap again and avoiding all eye contact with Louis.

“What if we got you a chastity belt?” Louis offers without thinking. “It’s, um, something increasingly popular, and I can get one especially made for you, and that way—“

“Okay.” Harry interrupts, quietly. Like he deep down wanted Louis to give him a reason to sleep in his room. Harry almost smiles, and Louis can see the slight quirk of his lips from where his curls cover his face. Louis doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know he’s smiling, too.

 

xii.

Louis knows that Harry’s sister has arrived by noon, and that they’ve gotten acquainted with one another, for his lunch is Pakistani and it’s clear that Zayn had cooked it. He doesn’t mind, nevertheless, thinks that he should probably get another head chef in the kitchen, anyway, but is curious to find Harry and meet his sister.

Louis doesn’t want to be rude and ruin their grieving, however, so he waits until the late afternoon, around four, to find Harry’s sister in the guest room. He gives the door two knocks before hearing someone beckoning him to come in and finds Harry and an older girl laying casually in the bed.

“Hi, um,” Louis smiles, hesitating, “I’m Louis. I thought I sho—“

“Oh, crap!”

Louis’ eyes widen as his smile widens humorously, watching Harry’s sister hurry off of the bed to offer her hand to her King.

Louis just stares at it.

“Sorry, is that, do I need to bow? Or—“

Interrupting, Louis shakes the girl’s hand, laughing, “Your name would be nice, though.”

“Right!” Harry’s sister exclaims. “I’m Gemma, and you’re—“

“Louis.” Louis doesn’t want to be addressed as King by Harry’s family. “But I’ve already said that.”

Louis glances behind Gemma to Harry, who looks terribly beautiful, even if rubbed sore skin under his eyes and in informal clothing. Louis feels almost weird in his day clothes, wishes he could spend the rest of the afternoon and into the evening with people closer to his age, even if all they’re doing is crying and rejoicing after time apart and terrible circumstances.

“I’ve a meeting, soon, but I was wondering if you’d both join me for dinner.” Louis offers.

“Will there be alcohol?” Gemma lets slip out of her mouth, not seeming as phased as she should that she’s before her King.”

“I’ll make sure there’s something stronger than wine.” Louis winks, watching Harry get out of bed to stand beside his sister.

Louis doesn’t mean to stand on his toes to kiss Harry on the cheek, letting the fuzz of his beard press to his tear covered skin, especially not in front of Gemma, but it just sort of happens. He brushes it off by shaking Gemma’s hand again, before leaving.

Once in the hallway, Louis curses himself for not kissing Gemma’s cheek as well and making the whole thing unsuspecting. A part of him had wanted Harry to know that Louis was doing it because he wanted to, not because it was him saying goodbye for the time being. He didn’t want to overshadow the gesture by kissing Gemma’s cheek too. He wanted Harry to know.

 

xiii.

Louis has two extra places set at dinner and is surprised to find turkey in place of the Pakistani beans and rice he’d expected. Getting up from his seat at the front of the table, Louis kisses Gemma’s cheek, noticing her in more formal attire this time, before coming completely distracted by the way Harry’s slacks fit his legs and his eyes look so _green_.

Louis kisses Harry’s cheek, murmuring into his ear, “Did you make this?” with an arm around the waist of a boy he wishes was his.

And then he almost faints at the smallest giggle that comes from Harry, who nods his head and kisses Louis’ cheek in return. Cheek kissing is a normal custom but also something Louis wouldn’t mind doing with Harry a lot more than the King of Italy or Gemma, even Niall, who usually smells like ham.

Dinner consists of Louis embarrassing Harry until his cheeks are bright red and they’re playing footsies under the table. It’s obnoxiously cute that Louis swears he catches Gemma rolling her eyes at least twice, but also adorable how Harry’s dimples pop out when he’s grinning as wide as he is and his foot rubs against Louis’ not so subtly.

More than relieved that Louis’ liking toward Harry is being returned, he coats his lips in red wine and doesn’t mind passing the harder liquor off to Gemma, watching Harry getting drunk over three glasses of ten year old wine, at its ripe.

Louis, Gemma, and Harry move to a room with soft chairs and bouncy couches after they’re far past done with their desserts. Harry stumbles only slightly, and it’s apparent that Gemma’s capable of holding her liquor. Louis’ not drunk, doesn’t need to be right now when he has a beautiful boy sprung out along his couch, feet in his lap as he rubs over the skin of his ankle.

“Harry’s a magnificent cook.” Louis compliments, although it’s directed at Gemma. “Dead serious, like,” he pauses to notice Harry dosing off, “I’ve never tasted as good of soup as his. And to be quite frank with you, I’ve had a lot of soup in my lifetime.”

Gemma starts to laugh real loud, before noticing Harry rolling over onto his side, facing the couch, and quieting it down to a stifled giggle. Less cute than Harry’s, but still cute and endearing enough.

It’s not very long later when Louis starts to get tired and Gemma follows. Leaning over Harry’s sleeping body, Louis nudges him to wake, brushing his scruff against his jaw as her whispers, “Got to get up, love. Bed time.”

“Do you want me to help carry him?” Gemma offers. “Or are we just gonna wake his sorry ass up?”

Louis hums. “The stairs are too long to lift him up. I can’t even carry me own suitcases up them. You can go, though. ‘Ve got him.”

And Louis does. Once Gemma’s out of the room, he sets a hand along Harry’s waist and presses his lips to his, waiting until Harry opens his eyes to move away.

They’re on their way up the stairs when Harry stops in realization, turning to Louis who’s stopped as well and murmuring, “Can I, can I sleep with Gems tonight?”

Louis notices the hesitance and hates it. He doesn’t want Harry feeling awkward or nervous around him, and definitely doesn’t want him to feel like he owes anything to his King other than food that tastes half alright and is at least partially nutritious.

“’Course, love. I’ll have extra blankets brought in, alright?”

Harry and Louis part ways where their stops separate. Louis’ in the royal wing, where his parent’s room used to be and his room sits at the end of the hall, and Harry’s in the guest wing, where people of all different ethnicities and purposes stay.

Louis gets ready for bed with the help of Niall with a small smile on his face and heavy lids. He feels drunk on Harry and takes a last sip of him with his face pressed to the pillow he’d slept in the night before, right before he goes to sleep.

 

xiv.

Louis makes sure to have a nice tombstone built for Harry’s mother, whose name he’s learned to be Anne. The funeral’s brief, with Louis silently listening to Gemma and Harry sniffle to one another. He leaves them alone out of respect and doesn’t watch the burial, but peaks through the dining room window inside as Harry helps lift his mother into a yet to be marked grave.

Louis changes out of his black clothes in time for a meeting about the financing of his Cathedral, and in time to see Liam.

 

xv.

“No, fur, Liam. I want fur.” Louis crosses his arms and leans against the wall of the sowing room. Louis had Niall shoo out all the female workers in order to make his request for Liam.

“What do you need fur padding for, anyway? The size measurements are ridiculous, too. Where is this going?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Louis breathes, trying to stay calm. He doesn’t want to explain that he’s having Harry made a chastity belt, or that he’s secretly in love with his cook.

“Okay, um, white or black?”

“I don’t know, whichever is softer but won’t make the person sweat in it.”

“White it is.” Liam breathes, and goes to a stack of clothing on a nearby table to give them to Louis. “I finished your boy’s night clothes, by the way. If they need refitting, you’ll have to bring him in here.”

“Thank you.” Louis tries to remember his manners.

“Anytime, your majesty. The fur will be done before supper.”

 

xvi.

Louis didn’t even know he had a blacksmith until Niall told him all metal orders would be seen through him. He could easily get someone other than himself to ask for the chastity belt, but no one else will be able to explain.

“What’s it for?”

“A, um,” Louis scratches his neck, the man in front of him looking grungy and oddly handsome and making his King fumble over his words, “chastity belt?” It comes out as more of a question with uncertainty.

“Oh!” The blacksmith, Ben laughs. “’Course. Those are easy. For a princess or summat?”

“No, actually,” Louis swallows, because he knows in order to get the measurements right it has to be made for a male with male parts. “Just a friend, actually, he’s going through some tough times, so I offered—“

“Do you want the extra space in the front or in between the legs?”

This shouldn’t be Louis’ decision, he knows. He should confront Harry on what _he_ wants and _how_ he wants it and _if_ he still wants it. But Louis doesn’t. He decides for him.

“In between the legs would be better.”

“Anything else?” Ben asks, and Louis thinks. He explains on.

 

xvii.

Louis goes to the kitchen before supper and finds Harry, asking the other cooks if he can steal him away for a bit. Of course, they’re not in the state to say no and agree, letting Louis drag Harry out of the room full of spices in the air by his wrist.

Louis brings Harry into his office and closes the double doors, pushing him against the wall and giggling into his ear.

“You don’t have to sleep in my room tonight but your chastity belt is made.” Louis lets his fingers slip to the belt loops on Harry’s slacks and he tugs up, pressing his lips to Harry’s neck and inhaling how he smells like chicken.

“I want to.” Harry whispers, his voice wavering a bit. “Is that okay?”

“I’d love for you to sleep in my bed.” Louis murmurs. “Anything for you, darling.”

By dinner, Louis’ decided he’s in love.

 

xviii.

Harry comes into Louis’ room when the wax of one of his candles is almost gone and the light provided is going to leave soon. He’s late, and Louis shouldn’t be disappointed, Harry doesn’t _have_ to sleep in his room, he doesn’t owe Louis anything other than what his job requires, but Louis’ slouching in bed nevertheless, pressing his face to the pillow Harry had slept on nights before and frowning once realizing it’s been washed. The linens have been changed.

The door opens slowly, like Harry’s trying to not be noticed, and stops in place once he’s inside the room and the door’s closed again. The guards have let him pass, knowing that he’s expected, and Louis’ anxious, biting his lip and setting down the pillow as he meets eyes with his cook.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, “I was, um, I—“

“Are you seeing someone else?”

Louis knows it’s absurd, even before it leaves his mouth. Harry’s committed to chastity, it wouldn’t make _sense_ for him to be seeing someone else. But he’s jealous and nervous and he doesn’t know what to think.

“No, I just, Gemma was crying, and I didn’t want—“

Louis sighs and gets out of the bed. He fumbles through the space he’s made in his drawers for Harry’s night things and finds a long, warm pair of pants and a t-shirt. Stuffing the fabric into Harry’s arms, Louis sighs again, close and making it so Harry’s back is pressed further against the door.

“I want you to sleep with her tonight.” Louis kisses Harry’s cheek. It pains him to say this, to wish Harry gone, but he knows what’s right. He has a lot to think about as well. “And if you need anything, even just a glass of water, I’ll have a servant outside her door, okay?”

Harry’s eyes are glossy and his lips part, but close again because he has nothing to say. Louis holds Harry’s face and leans his head down to kiss his forehead, whispering sweetly, “Go on now, she needs you.”

Louis knows it’s mutual, that Harry’s not ready for Louis. And Louis will wait. He’ll wait until forever so long as Harry’s involved.

 

xix.

Louis has a public relations team whose job it is to ensure there isn’t another overthrow of the monarchy and Louis’ doing as he should – representing the country as he should. There’s two men in charge who Louis sees to.

So he explains the problem. They find a solution.

 

xx.

The night Harry finally gets around to sleeping in Louis’ bed is two days later and four after the funeral. Gemma’s doing better, crying less after Louis invited her to tea with the sowing girls. Harry finds comfort in Louis, pressing his face into his neck and wrapping himself around Louis’ side. It’s right after dinner and evening, the light outside is only just beginning to fade, and it’s silent, all except for Harry’s shaky breathing and the sound of Louis rubbing Harry’s back.

“I want to marry you.” Louis whispers, moving his head from where he rests on his back to nudge Harry away from his neck. He wants to see him, see his reaction and not just feel the confused line of his mouth against his neck.

“You can’t do that.” Harry mumbles, sitting up and wiping at his eyes from where he’d been crying. Louis knows that this isn’t Harry saying no, but the fact that two males marrying is unheard of. There’s not even a word for it.

“I know.” Louis’ smiling though. “If you give me permission, and if Gemma agrees, I’ll marry her.”

“Why?” Harry grabs Louis’ hand and entwines their fingers.

“I need a Queen, love.” Louis sighs. “It won’t work any other way. We can fake a pregnancy, adopt an orphan. Or I’ve doctors who can impregnate her with my sperm. We can make this work. They’ll be our children. I need a heir to the throne.” Louis rushes out all that his PR team has told him. “Whatever you want, Harry.”

Harry’s silent for a long while. He mulls over what Louis’ saying, leaning against his side, and shakes his head.

“Can I think about it?”

“’Course.” Louis responds automatically. “Do you want to go to bed early?”

Harry nods his head and is about to get up to change, before Louis grabs him by his waist and pulls him back down. He wraps his legs around Harry’s and kisses him sweetly, making sure to keep his hands on just his waist, and that his front doesn’t noticeably grind against Harry’s, just slightly.

“I’ve your belt in my closet.” Louis whispers into Harry’s ear, kissing his lobe, before releasing him.

Harry goes to Louis’ closet hesitantly and notices the metal right away. The inside is padded with a white fur and it’s enough to make sure the metal won’t scrape into Harry’s skin or irritate him. There’s a place for a lock on the front and engravings underneath.

Harry moves back to Louis’ bed, kneeling in front of him.

“Can you tell me what this says?”

“Can you not read?” Louis frowns. Harry shakes his head. Louis doesn’t want to jump to conclusions that they’ll marry, but he also knows he doesn’t want to marry anyone else. And when they do, Harry will retire his job as cook (unless he genuinely wants it, or maybe he can just cook for them) and Louis will get him a tutor. They can read all sorts of things and send love notes to one another throughout the day when Louis’ too busy to have a real conversation.

Louis smiles fondly at Harry and picks up the belt.

“It says _Louis’_ , love.”

Harry blushes a hot red and Louis laughs, kissing the top of his head.

“Change here.” Louis murmurs against his skin. “I’ve to go down to my office and find the lock.”

Louis doesn’t think when he locks Harry in his room while he heads downstairs. And for some reason, he’s barely phased when he’s distracted by Niall needing him to sign some stuff. He kind of likes it, really.

 

xxi.

It’s an hour later when Louis comes back to his room to find Harry asleep in his bed, in a night shirt that’d been made for him and his belt. Louis’ first thought is to stare, and then he remembers the lock in his hand and is thankful he has an excuse to straddle him.

Louis’ quiet, knees on either side of Harry’s waist as he moves him to rest on his back. There’s a strong temptation to move the metal piece back to see how he looks bare, to touch his skin because he looks so warm and tempting, so beautiful, but Louis settles for locking his boy in, hooking the lock around the two pieces of metal holding the belt together and on him.

Louis falls asleep with his fingers trying to slip under the belt, but to no avail.

 

xxii.

When Louis wakes up it’s to cold fingers grabbing at the chain around his neck and he doesn’t hesitate to pin Harry down groggily, smiling lazily at him while Harry looks anywhere but him, embarrassed from being caught.

“Did you need something, sweetheart?”

Harry’s blush is beautiful and Louis wishes there was a way to can it, or capture it. To hold onto the color of his skin forever.

“I, um, the key,” Harry clears his throat, “I need to make breakfast. It’s late.”

“I already have people on that.” Louis remembers telling Niall that Harry won’t be around for breakfast. And maybe lunch, as well.

“Oh.” Harry bites his lip and Louis moves beside him in bed, pulling the duvet back to look at Harry and how beautiful the belt looks around his waist.

“You look beautiful.” Louis compliments, not moving his eyes away from Harry’s waist. His skin. His legs and his stomach from where his night shirt’s lifted during sleep. “Think I might just leave you like this, in my bed, and saved for me, hm?”

“Louis?” Harry’s voice is suddenly a bit hoarse and Louis has to move his gaze to Harry’s face. “What’re these for?”

Harry moves one of his hands to grab at a metal hook on the side of his waist. There are two, one for either side, and Louis smiles admirably.

“If you wanted,” Louis doesn’t want to scare the most beautiful boy he’s ever met off. But he also wants to be truthful. “If you wanted, I could chain you to my bed.”

Harry’s frozen, his eyes wide and his hand falls slack from where it was holding onto the hook.

“And do what?”

“I don’t know.” Louis murmurs. He has so many answers. Too many. “I don’t know what we, what we’d do so that you were still committed to your chastity.”

“If I’m wearing the belt, what else is there?” Harry’s so inexperienced and it’s gorgeous on him. He sits up, but Louis pushes him back down, keeping his hand on his torso, fingers dangerously close to his nipples.

“I can play with your nipples ‘til they’re red and puffy and you’re leaking pre-come all over the fur padding. Or I can fuck your mouth or your hand or your thighs. I can fuck my own hand and come all over your chin. Whatever you’d want, darling.”

Harry closes his eyes with uneven breathing as Louis’ thumb gently rubs over his left nipple. His chest is soft and he does this for a minute before Harry shoots up, this time successfully sitting up, and shakes his head.

“I need it off, Lou.” Harry hurries out. “T-Take it off.”

Louis’ fixing his necklace off when he asks, “What’s wrong, love? Breath, tell me what’s wrong.”

He’s confused and concerned, and then:

“M’hard.”

Louis smiles fondly and laughs, fixing the key into the lock, before undoing it and taking his lock back.

“Please don’t look.” Harry sounds weak, like he never considered the possibility of this, and Louis goes serious as he buries his face in his hands and doesn’t peak once. When he looks up after minutes of shuffling, Harry’s gone and has left with a change of clothes, leaving the belt back where it belongs in the closet.

Louis laughs to himself and gets out of bed, figuring he’s better late than never.

 

xxiii.

Louis’ walking through the halls of the second floor when he’s pulled into the bathroom. Harry’s behind it all, closing and locking the door, and Louis raises an eyebrow in concern, noticing his hastiness.

“We need to get married.” Harry blurts and Louis’ instantly concerned.

“How come, love?” The urgency in Harry’s tone is what initially sets Louis off, but it’s also the words used. The _need_.

“I can’t,” Harry looks like he’s about to cry and Louis rubs his back, bringing him into his arms for a hug, “I can’t have sex before marriage, Louis, and I don—“

“It’s alright, Harry.” Louis whispers, kissing him on the cheek. “You’re fine, yeah? I can have the papers gone through whenever you want and we’ll be legally together.”

“But, Gemma, I asked, and she, she didn’t want to. She said it’s not right.”

“What’s not right, sweetheart?” Louis stops rubbing Harry’s back, confused, and concerned that he’d misjudged Gemma’s character. That he’ll have to pay her off to not go to the nearest town and blurt out that their King likes men.

“She, she wants me to marry you. Publically, she does-doesn’t understand.” Harry sniffles and tightens his hold on Harry and Louis frowns.

“I can find another Queen, love, don’t worry. There are plenty of girls wanting the throne.”

Harry moves out of Louis’ arms and wipes his face, sniffling. “How soon can we wed?”

Louis grins and leans forward to kiss him. “Tonight.”

 

xxiv.

Maybe they’re marrying for the sex. Or maybe it’s the love, or the way Harry giggles when he’s embarrassed and Louis smiles because to him, he’s the only person in the world who matters. Either way, there’s legal papers on the dresser, proof of their marriage and promises for an official ceremony soon, and Harry spread and naked, on his front beneath Louis, the covers pulled over their bodies and parted lips pressed to the pillow.

“I’ll take such good care of you.” Louis whispers into Harry’s ear, holding him close by his waist and moving his hips forward, the head of his penis breaching inside of him. “Until we’re old and gray.”

Harry begs to be on his back once Louis’ fully inside of him. “Need to see you.” He pants against the pillows, overwhelmed from the size of Louis and thankful for the long preparation that Louis was smart enough to think of.

Louis’ so, so gentle, smiling and not at all rough with Harry. Harry whose virginity is tearing away.

“It’s worth it,” Louis murmurs into the top of Harry’s head, kissing right in between his eyes, “having to hide from the public like this. I wouldn’t have it any other way, wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Harry makes a small whiny noise when Louis’ inside in just the right way. He grabs behind Louis, holding onto his bum and trying to keep him _just like that, just like tha—please!_

“Harry,” Louis comforts, “calm down, shh, I know you’ve never done this before, but _trust me_.”

And Harry does. He lets Louis’ bum go, even though it was so nice to touch and he knows he’s going to get to touch it for the rest of his life, can’t wait even a second. Louis knows why Harry was so reactive, moves his hips in small circles that have the head of his cock rubbing against Harry’s prostate and Harry’s legs wrapping around Louis’ waist, wanting him closer and faster.

Harry’s reactive and needy, something it doesn’t take Louis long to realize and take advantage of. When he’s about to come, Louis moves his hand to Harry’s cock, teasing his shaft, before squeezing his balls, making sure to delay the process.

“I was—“ Harry starts, confused on what just happened.

“Don’t want you coming so soon, love.” Louis murmurs, holding Harry’s cheek in his hand. “Just a bit longer.”

A bit longer turns into a whole twenty minutes of Harry bucking his hips off the bed and Louis delay his orgasms one after another. Harry has tears rolling down his cheek and Louis’ kissing them off by the time he’s finally allowed to come, Louis following suit inside of him.

Louis pulls out and uses a wet cloth he’d had a servant prepare ahead of time to wipe them both down, making sure to not get any come on the sheets. He holds Harry into his chest until he’s giggling and blurting out nonsense about how it was and how he feels. “I want to do that again soon.” Harry sounds hesitant and unsure.

“’Course.” Louis grins into Harry’s hair, kissing his curls.

“Really?”

“Mmm,” Louis hums, “if you’re good.”

 

xxv.

“So you know why you’re here?” Louis had gone through over fifty options for girls he could marry. His wants were precise – they had to be above eighteen, female, from a well-known family, and English – but it was another factor that had the number raising. They didn’t have to be a virgin, and they could’ve been married before.

“’Course.” Eleanor runs her finger along the edge of her tea glass, across from Louis at the dining table. It’s not the grand one, small and more personable, and reserved for the afternoon.

“And you don’t mind that we won’t…?”

“I don’t need sex in my life.” Eleanor rolls her eyes. “Or kids, to be quite frank with you. Although I’m assuming you and your husband will want them and you’re going to need a heir to your throne, and if that’s true, I’m willing to help out.”

“How soon are you available?” Louis asks. Eleanor comes from a long line of Calder’s, rich nobles that aren’t quite royalty but have come close to it.

“Don’t be so informal.” Eleanor teases. “You’ve at least got to meet my father first, if you want to make this realistic.”

Louis knows that Eleanor, Harry, and a few peoples who work around him are the only ones who can find out about this arrangement. He knows the fatal effects of revealing this secret to the public, of telling someone who’s too closed minded and too traditional.

“How’s Sunday sound?”

 

xxvi.

Eleanor comes to the palace in person to deliver the great news. It’s a week after the dinner that went spectacularly well – of course it did, for Louis knows Eleanor’s family is looking out for their best interest financially and their daughter becoming Queen is definitely it – and Harry and Louis are lounging together in bed, as per usual. There’s a new chef in the kitchen, with promises that Harry can use the space whenever he’d like, and Harry has his head on Louis’ stomach, Louis playing with his hair when there’s a knock on the door.

“Your majesty, there’s a women by the name of Eleanor Calder here to see you.” The guards don’t come inside, they know better.

“You can send her in here.” Louis calls, and can feel Harry tensing, about to get up, but Louis keeps him down, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “It’s alright, you know, she’s going to see us like this, sooner or later.”

“Will she sleep in here?” Harry asks shyly, burying his face into Louis’ shirt.

“Course not, love. We should probably switch the rooms up, though, hm? We can get the royal master bedroom and she can have another in this wing.”

“Does that mean a bigger bed?” Harry’s curious. He doesn’t know how a bed could get bigger than this, though, grew up sleeping on the floor with lots of blankets and the comfort of his sister.

Louis laughs. “And pillows. So many pillows.”

“Good,” Harry murmurs, “I like pillows.” Just then, there’s a knock on the door, followed by Eleanor’s entrance.

“So,” she stands with a hand on her hip, “my father gives you permission to marry me.”

It was obvious, of course, that her parents weren’t about to disapprove. They were probably relieved someone would take her after having an unholy divorce, let alone the King.

“Great to hear.” Louis smiles. “This is Harry, by the way. Harry, this is Eleanor Calder.”

Harry sits up, fixing his hair from where it was run through by Louis’ gentle fingers.

“Nice to meet you.” He offers his hand, biting his lip with hesitance and uncertainty. “Do you think I could cater your wedding?”


End file.
